


The psycho next door

by Volume_Struck



Category: Deadpool - Fandom, Marvel, X Men
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Wade being an asshole, slow buildup, wade being Wade In general, wade being a sexy beast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volume_Struck/pseuds/Volume_Struck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life has completely fucked you over-<br/>You get kicked out by your mom, you end up in a shitty apartment on the bad side of town, you're falling apart- and to top it off, your neighbor is a psychotic mercenary in spandex who relentlessly flirts with you.<br/>He brings nothing but bad news and shitty jokes...<br/>But you're starting to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Groaning, you collapse onto the floor of your new apartment, surrounded by a few boxes and a barren living room, with only two other rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. All of which are tiny and not very... Appealing, or well kept. You didn't have much of a choice, with a job as the secretary for the local newspaper, and this was the better of your limited options. A tiny apartment in the notoriously dangerous side of town, that you heard rumors about being run by some big time gang member, was your top choice. Looking outside the window to your left, you could have sworn there was a drug deal going on, already. Also, you are pretty sure you just heard someone screaming the word fuck through the clearly not soundproof walls. Great.  
"Hey, (y/n), you okay?" Peter asks, a sympathetic smile on his face as he sets down the last box from the back of his truck, stretching, and taking a seat on the creaky floor beside you. He opens his mouth to comfort you further, but closes it again, instead settling for another pitiful grin. You close your eyes and lean your head back on the wall, trying to calm your nerves and resist the urge to cry. As you try to respond, you hear more crashes and swearing from your neighbor, something about chimichangas and douchebags, and you raise your eyebrow, looking to the wall, and then back to Peter. Weird.  
Deciding to ignore it, you shift uncomfortably. "Yeah, fantastic." You mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Long day. You know, my mom kicks me out and says I have an hour to leave, then I have to pack up all my shit and find a place within the next 24 hours or I'll be sleeping on the streets. And now I'm in this shithole with someone who sounds mildly psychotic next door." As if confirming your statement, there's more angry exclamations, promptly followed by shattering glass sounds. You flinch a bit, curious as to what the actual fuck is going on, but not caring enough to investigate for the time being.  
Peter sighs, ruffling your hair and giving you another sympathetic look. "(y/n), you know you're always welcome to stay with me for a while, at least until you can get back on your feet."   
"Thanks." You smile at him, weakly. "But, you know I couldn't do that. I'd really hate to bother you and your Aunt, there's enough tension between you two already, and you don't need me around."   
As you finish your statement, you can hear even more screaming from the neighbor. You and Peter give each other a "what the actual fuck" sort of look, but decide to shrug it off for now, in favor of continuing your conversation.  
Peter nods understandingly. "I get it. Just... Keep that in mind. I'm always here for you." He places a gentle hand on your shoulder.  
"Yeah." You shake your head. "God, money's tight right now and frankly, regardless of how low the rent is, I probably won't be able to keep this place for long."  
Silently, Peter leans back against the wall, pulling you to his side and closing his eyes. With most people, you'd be creeped out, or worried about "ulterior motives" but with him, it was purely platonic. He's been your friend for as long as you can remember, and it's just a natural thing to be in close proximity with him. You lean your head against his shoulder, in search of any comfort available to you, after all you've been through today.   
Suddenly, in the midst of your little bonding moment, his phone goes off, breaking the silence, and startling Peter. He jerks upright, scrambling to pull it out of his pocket and flips it open.   
"Hey- yeah- what? What about Steve?" He remarks. "Jesus Christ Tony, calm down!" He looks confused and worried as he stands up. After a moment of pause while Tony screams incoherent things to him over the phone, he speaks. His tone has changed to a very serious one."Yeah- okay. I got it. Be there in ten." He flips the phone shut, tucks it back into his pocket, and then looks down at you.   
"Hey, (y/n), I'm sorry, but it's an emergency. I've really got to go. I'd love to stay and help unpack, but-"  
"It's fine. Go kick some ass, Spidey." You give him another weak smile. Returning the grin, he approaches the window, pulling it open and throwing a leg over the edge.   
"By the way," he adds. "If your neighbor gives you any trouble..." He looks at the wall very pointedly, as if he knows what kind of demon is on the other side. "Give me a call, okay?"  
You nod, waving him off.  
Before you can even blink, he's leapt out the window, off to do lord knows what.  
Standing up, you run a hand through your hair, sighing. You didn't bring many belongings, but from the looks of this place, you've got a lot of fixing up to do.

Five hours of work and cleaning later-

With a groan, you collapse into a heap of misery on your cold, hard mattress, which, for now, serves as your bed, and look around. A pile of empty boxes resides in the corner, and all other objects have been put in their respective places. Your bedroom is also your living room here, and there's hardly any walking room, but it'll have to do. Just a few feet away is your ragged couch, with an ancient laptop placed on an upside down cardboard box in front of it. Everything else is just photographs, clothes, which you'd tucked into the closet already, some random valuables, and some silverware.  
You flop backwards on the mattress, resting your head on the pillow and curling up under a thin blanket. It's only 7:30, but you're beyond tired, and would love nothing more than a few hours, or even a permanent escape from reality. But, unfortunately, you don't even get a few seconds of rest.   
"FUCK!" A loud crash follows the vulgar exclamation, coming from the wall behind your head. The crashing continues, but the yelling stops momentarily.  
You jolt upright, instinctively reaching for your pocketknife that you keep under your pillow. You immediately open it, jumping to your feet.  
A moment of looking around confirms that there's nobody in your house, but your new neighbor is being a loud dipshit, once again.   
Taking a deep breath, you pocket the knife after swinging it shut. "Fucking idiot..." You mumble under your breath, wanting to leave the situation alone, for now. You'd face whatever psycho was on the other side later.  
Or so you hope.  
Now, he's screaming about chimichangas again. Shaking your head, you sit back down, trying to block out the noises.   
Just as you begin to lay down again,  you hear more screams and- oh my god, was that a gunshot?  
Jumping out of the bed, you rapidly shrug on a hoodie and a pair of boots, running over to your door and yanking it open. You're not quite sure what's gotten into you- running towards the gunshot, instead of away, like any rational human being. But honestly, you're so tired, you're not really thinking about that- you just want to make sure everything is okay.  
You swiftly walk to the left, approaching your neighbors door with slight hesitation.   
It's quiet now, and you're starting to think maybe knocking on the door of some random person who may or may not have a gun is probably a shitty idea, but you do it anyways.  
Not two seconds later, the door flies open, and all you can see is a red blur as someone tackles you to the ground, flipping you onto your stomach and straddling your back, pinning your arms to your sides. Your chest slams into the floor, momentarily winding you. whoever is on your back is rather heavy, and none of your struggling can even move them, let alone throw them off.  
"WHAT THE F-" you begin to scream as you regain your breath.   
Whoever your attacker is (you're assuming it's a male, due to the, uh, bulge you can feel pressing into your lower back) he switches your arms so he can hold them in one gloved hand, and uses the other one to cover your mouth.  
"Hey, babe." He whispers.


	2. 3...2...1

'Babe? 'You think to yourself, confused and rather alarmed. You wriggle around, and flail your legs, but you can't land a kick from the angle he's at and he only tightens his grip on you, unaffected. You scream into his hand, but its completely muffled.   
He pulls out a knife of some sort and presses it against your neck. You can hear him mumbling to himself, while he, rather carelessly, swings the knife around, dangerously close to your neck. You flinch, genuinely concerned that he may accidentally slit your throat.  
"She's pretty... Who is she?... Sorry, and fuck you too... Just kill her?... Wait, what?" You're just immensely confused by all of this. He appears to be having some sort of argument with someone- you'd think he's talking to himself, except it's like... An actual conversation.  
Weird. It just makes this guy that much more concerning.  
Without warning, he sits up a bit, and tucks the knife away, intrigued by whatever he's hearing."Mhm... Yeah... No, you're right... Shit... Okay okay..." He glances down at you, squinting. Of course, you can't see, since your face is being pressed into the ground, but you can feel his gaze on you, sweeping over your body.  
"HOLY FUCK!" He exclaims, grinning, and going back to his internal dialogue. You jump a bit at his unexpected and loud outburst.   
"Yeah... No this is great, this is so much better than my other plan..."   
You squirm, to no avail, as he talks to himself, seeming to momentarily forget that he has a bewildered and actually quite horrified girl pinned down below him.  
"Look, nevermind, I know who you are." He's addressing you this time, not whoever the fuck he was talking to a moment ago."And it's actually a good thing, for me, at least. Just hold still, let me do my job, and all is good."  
'What the fuck?'You wonder. You don't know what's happening, or what to be afraid of. His plans? What are his plans? Who is he?  
You try to respond, but, because of his hand, you are clearly not able to.   
"Okay, up we go, pretty girl ." He groans. Keeping his hand over your mouth, he stands up, roughly yanking you to your feet along with himself. The moment you have balanced yourself and have your feet planted on the floor, you try to dash forward, but he just twists your arms in response, and you fall back against his chest (rock hard, might I add) for fear of him snapping your wrists.  
Without a word, he adjusts his grip, pressing you against him again by wrapping an arm around your waist. You look down a bit, and note that the hand that's currently resting on your stomach is holding a dagger of sorts. That could easily end up in your gut.  
You scream into his hand, the sound coming out muffled. You flail your legs and this time, land a kick, hard on his shin, but he doesn't even flinch. You wonder if he even noticed.  
"Baby," he laughs, no longer being quiet, his voice deep, with an almost sadistic tone. His voice is slightly muffled, and you are able to conclude that he's wearing some form of mask. "This building is full of no good criminals and assholes. Even if I let you scream, nobody would give a fuck. They'd probably just laugh."  
Flailing has proved completely pointless now, and you're somewhat at a loss for what to do, but you keep trying. You fall limp in his arms, trying to get him to drop you by becoming a deadweight, but it doesn't affect him in the slightest. Then, you try to free your arms and reach for your knife, but he has a death grip on your wrists. Panting, you give in for the moment, bewildered and overpowered.   
Without saying another word, he drags you backwards into his apartment, closing the door with his foot.   
At the moment, you are too panicked to take in much of your surroundings, but from what you can tell, there's quite a bit to take in- trash everywhere, like pizza boxes and takeout bags, guns littering coffee tables and floors, assortments of knives lining the walls, and only a few chairs, a tv, and a king size bed in the corner.   
Your eyes widen in fear. This man collects weapons (some of which you were fairly certain were illegal) like a kid collects fucking action figures, if not even more obsessively.   
Grabbing a handgun off of the counter as he walks by, he tosses you onto the couch, removing his hand from your mouth. As soon as you land, you hold still for a moment, taking a deep breath, and then roll over to face your captor. A man stands before you, tall, and very, very well built. You can't help but wonder what he looks like under that... Suit? Thats the strange part- he's covered in red and black spandex from head to toe, with weapons strapped to every limb, and swords on his back. You can't read any expression through his mask, and you sink back into the couch, startled. SpiderMan may be your best friend, but you'd never heard of this guy before, and you'd met or at least heard Peter talk about almost all of the people he has worked with.  
"Wha-?" you stutter, confused, and trying to remember Peter mentioning any crazy heroes or villains or whatever the fuck this guy is?  
He doesn't really react to your shock, or give any sort of an explanation. He just plops down on the couch next to you, kicking his legs up on the coffee table and throwing his arms up behind his head, as if having a bewildered girl he just more or less attacked and kidnapped sitting on his couch was the most normal thing in the world.  
You stare for a good few minutes, in silence. He seems to be mulling something over in his head again, occasionally nodding to himself or grunting.   
Eventually, he suddenly turns to face you. "Oh, you're right. How rude of you." He says to no one in particular.  
"The name's Pool- Deadpool." He introduces himself casually, in a mock James Bond voice.  
You narrow your eyes, still confused.   
"Well?" He says, after you don't reply for a considerable amount of time. "Questions, comments, concerns? Quips, quotes, good jokes?" He urges you to speak.  
Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you speak in a shaky voice, at first. "  
Okay, first of all, what's up with the freaky bondage outfit shit? And second of all, can I, uh, go back to my apartment?"  
"Mm," he mumbles, looking away from you. He seems to be talking to himself again, and not listening, despite the fact that he was the one who urged you to talk. It's actually really annoying.  
"Yeah, she's pretty- sassy too- no, we won't do that- no that's wrong!" He is having some sort of argument with himself, again.  
"Hello? Fuckface?" You try to get his attention. Honestly, you know you should probably be trying to escape, or at least being a kiss ass to avoid being shot or stabbed in the face, but for whatever reason, you're not. Stupid.  
"Hm?" He turns to you, cocking his head. It's rather menacing. "I'm sorry, baby, did you just call me fuckface?" He drawls, questioning you.  
"Hmph." You glare at him. "Maybe I did, fuckface."  
There's a moment of silence, where you immediately regret your previous statements, and also begin to wonder if you're going to make it out of this ordeal alive.   
He's suddenly grown very tense and quiet, his hand resting on the handgun strapped to his thigh. You eye it nervously, slowly trying to distance yourself from him- but it's a small couch, and running would not be ideal, considering the fact that he is heavily armed and lord knows he probably has some explosives lying around. Stepping on a grenade was not your idea of a good time.  
What felt like an eternity later, he starts laughing.  
Hysterically.  
Like, in a "I'm fucking psychotic" sort of way.  
Immensely confused, you gape at the man who went from stone cold, looking like he was seriously considering blowing your brains onto his walls, (and dear lord you are 99% certain that there are bloodstains all over the walls and ceilings, mainly because you can see them poking out from behind strategically placed posters) to laughing like you just told the joke of the fucking year.  
You completely freeze up, at a loss for words.  
And then, as quickly as it started, his laughter abruptly stops, and there's a gun being pressed against your forehead, directly between your eyes.  
You remain frozen in place, your breath hitching in your throat.  
"Look, you're here for a reason, pretty girl." He moves the gun, gently twirling a strand of your hair with it. "Just shut the fuck up, cooperate, and you'll be fine."   
You nod frantically, and he lowers the gun, dropping it onto the couch beside him and cracking his neck.  
You sit in silence, shaking. You aren't much of a damsel in distress, not in most cases, but you are utterly confused, and half asleep, and just overall feeling like shit today, and, god, this has bad timing. The past twenty four hours have been hell. And now, you're being held at gunpoint by a strange man in spandex who's likely some sort of sadist, for reasons unknown.  
A moment later, he flips on the TV to the Disney channel, confusing you even further. This man, who abducts girls and is apparently a connoisseur of military grade assault rifles, is watching Disney.   
After a few minutes of the intro to the little mermaid, he takes a deep breath, and turns his head to face you.  
"You okay?" His voice has turned gentle now, and for a moment, you believe he's sincere. Frankly, he probably is, but you're just confused- this man must be on his period or some shit, because his mood swings are off the fucking charts.  
You don't answer for a moment, absolutely astonished and irritated by this entire situation.   
"Am I okay?!" You exclaim. "Am I fucking okay! I got kicked out of my house, lost everything, ruined my relationship with my mother and probably my entire family, moved into this shithole, and ended up being held at gunpoint by a fucking psychopath, aka YOU, and you're asking if I'm OKAY?"  
He pauses. "Is that a no...?"  
You glare. "That's a 'fuck you'." You deadpan, clearly not learning from your mistakes- you're talking shit to a man who, just a few minutes ago, had a gun pointing at your forehead.   
He sighs, not reacting badly to your insult this time. "Look, baby-"  
"Call me baby again an ill rip your eyeballs right out of that mask." You growl. You know you're at a disadvantage, by about two hundred pounds of muscle and at least 50 guns, and in no position to be making threats, but you're so afraid and confused, it's coming across as rage.  
You can't see his expression, but he appears to be raising an eyebrow. "You've got guts. I've got a gun and I could have your brain matter all over the wall behind you in a matter of seconds, and you're insulting me?"  
Even though you don't really understand his intentions, you decide to go off on a limb. "Well, yeah." You twirl your hair a bit. "But like you said, I'm here for a reason. I'm pretty sure that blowing my brains out would likely fuck up whatever your bullshit plans may be?"  
He smirks underneath his mask. "Okay, pretty girl, you're right. I do need you alive. But missing a limb or two shouldn't be an issue."  
Oh my god, you seriously hope he's joking. Although, it's hard to tell with this freak.  
Honestly, he doesn't sound joking, and that's terrifying on multiple levels.  
Although you still can't see his face, you can practically feel his smug little grin.  
"Anyways, what's your name?" He asks casually, once again, like this is the most normal situation in the world, turning the volume down on the TV.  
"I thought you said you knew who I was."   
"Well," he pauses. "I know... Associates of yours. And I keep forgetting your name. Also, it's not like I really know who you are, yellow was the one who recognized you."  
"Yellow?" You ask, then shake your head. "Okay, forget I asked that." You raise your eyebrows. "Associates?"  
"You'll find out soon enough. Anyways, name?"  
"(y/n)" you answer, begrudgingly.   
"Cute." He chuckles.   
"Anyways," you ignore his statement, although you're blushing. He's an asshole, but he's an asshole with an eight pack. You can't help it. "Associates?" You ask again.  
He flips the TV off, stretching his arms, flexing quite a bit in the process. "You'll see."  
"When?"  
Standing up, Deadpool cracks his knuckles and takes a deep breath.  
"Right... About..." He looks to the window expectantly. "Now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was saving this chapter for a bit later on, but I already have 15 kudos overnight- thank you! So, as a response and sort of thank you for that, he's the next chapter. Yes, a cliffhanger. Sorry, haha.


	3. My Hero...?

Just as he predicted, the window shatters, with a rather earsplitting assortment of sounds. A familiar, lanky but muscular figure, clad in red and blue, crashes in. He lands with a thud, rolling and jumping to his feet effortlessly, his entire body tense and ready to kick some ass- although, as he spots your captor, he does momentarily freeze in a way that implies he is afraid, but he quickly returns to a bit more of an aggressive stance.  
This all happens in a matter of seconds, startling you. Quickly, you jump to your feet, standing behind Deadpool, damn near as tense as Peter is.  
"Pe-" as you begin to call out, you stop yourself from revealing his identity. That would be rather stupid, now wouldn't it."Spider-Man?!"  
Peter nods at you, both a reassurance of your safety, and a thank you, for correcting the way you refer to him. The last thing he needs is a psycho knowing his identity.  
He then brushes some shattered glass off of his board shoulders, looking to Deadpool, in what you can only imagine as a look of rage.  
Before you or Peter can even begin to figure out what exactly is happening, or why, or how to solve it, Deadpool spontaneously whips around and harshly grabs you by your hair, jerking you towards him so your back is pressed to his muscular chest. You whimper a bit at the stinging sensation in your scalp, but quickly stop yourself, in favor of remaining stoic.  
Now, his arm is clamped firmly around your neck before you can move, the barrel of his pistol pressed to your temple. You don't realize the pistol is there at first, and attempt to jerk away from him- and then he digs it a bit further into your head. You can sure as hell feel it now. You freeze, an unintelligible, fearful sound caught in your throat.   
Peter, or Spider-Man, stands in front of you, still collecting himself and registering the... Interesting scene currently being displayed before him.  
"(y/n), are you okay?" He asks, breathlessly. You can imagine the terror on his face- from the moment he became Spider-Man, he kept trying to ditch you for your own safety, and he is constantly terrified of you getting hurt because of him. This is more or less his worst nightmare come alive. And it's even worse, because it's the heavily armed jackass who has a habit of fucking up Spidey's assignments once every couple of months.   
"Yeah, just peachy. you know, being held hostage and all..." You joke, to his rather pointless question, a raspy chuckle escaping your throat. it doesn't sound remotely humorous or even sarcastic- just kind of dead inside. Honestly, it's how you feel. Although, despite the circumstances, you decide to keep being a smartass. It's your specialty, after all, and you're not going to give anyone the satisfaction of not having to deal with your sarcastic bullshit, especially assholes like the one who has a fucking gun aimed at you, fully well prepared to blow your brains out.   
Deadpool snorts at your comment.  
"Care to let her go?" Peter asks, finally speaking towards Deadpool, and crosses his arms. He is surprisingly calm now, or is at least acting like it. He's good at that- after all, he has to lie and rapidly adapt to shitty and agitating situations for a living, both in and out of the Spidey gig.  
"Nah." Deadpool replies simply, with a shrug, grinning beneath his mask.  
"Wade... Please, I don't want to fight you right now." Peter groans, but he still clenches his hands into fists, releasing them again and taking a small step forward, indicating that he will still fight if forced to do so.  
'Wade? Interesting name.' You think, momentarily forgetting the situation at hand. But, Deadpool, or Wade, or the psycho, any of the three works, takes a deep breath, expressing mock concern towards Peter.  
"Yeah... Because you know I'll kick your ass!" Wade laughs.  
"Look, let her go, we can settle this without getting other people involved." Somehow, whenever Deadpool gets involved, Peter ends up begging for someone's life. Or an entire building full of people. Depends on the situation and how many explosives are involved.  
"Well, where's the fun in that?"   
Peter pauses for a moment, thinking over his options. He's eyeing the excessive amount of weapons, the heavily armed man in front of him, the pistol trained on your head, and how clearly fucked the both of you are. Finally, after what feels like forever, he groans inwardly, momentarily giving in to the situation. "Okay, what do you want, you psychotic idiot?" He's sure it won't be anything good, or anything he can even consider complying with, as per usual.   
"I want your suit." He says, to everyone's astonishment. Peter is especially shocked- no ransom, no top secret info- just a bunch of spandex? Really?  
Your jaw drops, and if you could see Peter's face, you're sure he'd have the same look of shock and confusion.  
"You-You-" Peter stutters. "You're kidding me?"  
"Nope." Wade chuckles. "Very much not kidding."  
"What the fuck?" You grumble, slouching a bit. This is, by far, the most bizarre scenario you've ever been in. He kidnapped you, threatened you, and actually hurt you quite a bit, just because he's a fucking SpiderMan fanboy?  
"Why, exactly?" After a moment of staring at Wade, trying to determine if he's actually serious, Peter crosses his arms, cocking his head curiously.  
"I got an... Offer. I get the buyer your suit, bam, I'm rich." As he speaks, he makes a 'bam' sort of gesture with the hand holding the gun, both you and Spidey cringing at his careless movements, which could easily result in your brain matter accidentally ending up on the walls.  
"Who would even want my suit that badly?" Peter inquires, still confused, and mildly doubtful. Really, a suit was a rather... Mundane request, for this weirdo.   
"No idea." Wade says, shrugging. "I think he said something about his son being a fan or something."  
"Hm." Peter mumbles. "This is a first..." He's dealt with the whole "fanboy" issue, but not "fanboy who hires a mercenary to steal my getup" sort of thing.  
"Yeah, weird. Just strip, okay?" You can feel Wade smirking again, rather creepily this time, and he's silently laughing.  
"Wade, seriously, shut up." Peter uncrosses his arms. "I can't give you my suit to give to some random guy. My DNA is all over this!"  
"What, is it your fucking cum rag?" Wade jokes, laughing at his own, rather perverted, humor. "I know... Good one." He says to himself.   
"Very funny. So mature." Peter appears to be giving in to the bullshit, childish argument that the manchild with the weapons has started.  
"Hey, assholes!" You wave your arms a bit, and Wade tightens the arm around your throat. "Uh, you know, I've got a gun to my head! Can we solve this, talk later?" You look pleadingly at Peter, who nods again.  
"Ah- yeah, could you let her go?" He asks, for the second time now. He knows that it's probably pointless asking, but he ought to do something.  
"Once again, I need the suit."  
"Once again, you're not getting the suit."  
They honestly sound like a bunch of bitchy toddlers. It's getting on your nerves.  
Wade sighs. "Man, I didn't want to have to do this... Your girlfriend here is really rather... Cute." His voice completely changes again- from lighthearted to sadistic. You shudder as he travels down the side of your neck, the barrel of his gun brushing lightly against your skin.  
"She's not my girlfriend..." Peter mumbles under his breath, rather immaturely, considering the situation..  
"Whatever. Either way, now I've gotta decide..." He takes his arm off of your neck, but you don't run- he's still got a pistol trained on your head. With his free arm, he grabs a katana from the sheath on his back, swinging it around so the sharp edge is pressed against your neck. He then slowly moves it down, brushing it against your stomach, and then your thighs, then back up again, pausing with it right up against your gut.   
"What should I cut off first?" He laughs sadistically.  
"Wade-" Peter tenses up, taking a step forward, only to be met with Wade cocking his gun and pressing it into your shoulder. Peter freezes. "Wade, you don't kill innocent people. I know you."  
"Yes, I don't kill them... Not usually." He argues. "But I can hurt them, especially when I've got 2 million on the line."  
"Uhhhhh..." You interject, both afraid and pissed off.  
"Shut up." Wade snaps. Wow, he's fucking unstable.  
Peter pauses for a few moments, once again looking around. He's strong, sure, he's got his webs too, but Wade really takes a lot more than that to beat. Actually, he's never seen Wade get completely beaten.   
Logan "accidentally" put him through a wood chipper a while back, and the little fucker came back within 48 hours, like a roach on steroids. And let's just say that Logan had to grow back a few things of his own, less than an hour after Wade regenerated.   
Peter quickly realizes that he should've brought backup, and that it's a bit too late now. However, when his "Spidey senses" were tingling, all he knew was the location, and just guessed that you were involved- not that he'd also have to deal with a certain heavily armed manchild.  
There's a long moment of silence, where Wade seems to be genuinely considering how to torture you, and Peter seems to be thinking things over. He comes to a decision, very, very reluctantly.  
"... Fine. But you need to promise me that you'll wash it, several times, so there's no way to link it back to me, alright?" He sighs, resigned.  
"Yay!" Wade giggles, giddy, and then he  instantly proceeds to sheath his katana and lower the pistol, strapping it back onto his thigh. You immediately rush forward, enthusiastically throwing yourself behind behind Peter, relieved.   
"Thank you." You mumble, shaking. He nods.  
"I promise. Now strip." Wade grins.  
"Uh..." Peter looks around, nervous and annoyed and feeling rather exposed. "I was kinda in a rush... Forgot to pack a change of clothes." He mumbles, shifting his gaze to his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to another.  
"No problem baby boy, I'm sure nobody would mind seeing that fine ass of yo-"   
"Please, shut up, you perverted freak." Peter snaps, still looking at the ground. His SpiderMan bravado has all but disappeared, in just a few seconds. It's actually entertaining.  
You hold back a laugh.  
Wade pouts. "Aww, I'm sorry." He apologizes mockingly. Laughing, he walks over to a box in the corner, kicking it open unenthusiastically. He digs through it, and after a few moments, you can see his mask stretch as he grins. "You're a bit scrawny, so it should be fine- but here, hopefully these fit."  
He tosses a lump of clothes into Peter's arms, making a rather suspicious sound, smirking.  
The shirt in Peter's arms has Deadpool's logo on it, with the caption, "this girl wants the D", and they're paired with red skinny jeans and a ski mask, to protect his identity.  
Both Peter and you look up, raising an eyebrow each.  
"Ex girlfriend. Well... I guess she was actually a prostitute that didn't charge me very much. Either way, it should fit." He says with a shrug. You can tell that the... Interesting choice of clothing is intentional, but neither you or Peter are in the mood to argue.  
"Wonderful..." Peter mumbles, rather begrudgingly, walking to hide behind the bathroom door in shame while he changes. You and Wade are both stifling laughter. But, you almost immediately take about twenty steps back, your laughter fading as you watch Wade warily, trying not to trip over the mess of weapons on the floor. You end up leaning on the wall on the other side of the room, distancing yourself from your captor. Wade looks at you, and you can practically feel him frowning, but he shrugs it off and looks back to the bathroom door as it closes.   
However, as soon as the door closes, Peter yelps, his scream shockingly high pitched.  
"WHY IS THERE A ROTTING ARM IN YOUR SINK, WADE?!"  
"Uh..." Wade pauses. "Wolverine and I had a... Civilized debate... And it escalated..." He trails off, twiddling his thumbs.  
"BUT WHY DID YOU KEEP THE FUCKING ARM!?" Peter yells. He doesn't really cuss often, leaving both you and Wade rather amused.  
"Ah... Trophy?"  
"A TROPHY OF YOUR OWN AMPUTATION?"

~20 minutes and a ridiculous amount of smartass comments from Wade later~

Peter stands with you beside him, arms crossed and glaring at Wade through the holes in the mask. The clothes fit him a little too well, to be honest. They are damn near as tight on him as the suit. The design of the shirt isn't exactly helping his case, either.  
"You owe me." Peter snaps as he turns to open the door, anxious to get away from Wade and the embarrassing situation at hand.   
"Sure thing, baby boy." Wade laughs, tossing the suit onto his couch and sitting down beside it. He throws his leg over the other one and turns the volume back up on the television, sighing and sinking back into the couch as the Little Mermaid continues playing.  
You and Peter exchange glances, assuming this is your cue to leave. Peter nods, holding the door open.  
"I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll sort this out." He smiles gently through the mask, gesturing for you to leave.  
You take the cue thankfully, practically sprinting back to your apartment, leaving the madman behind you, and throwing yourself into your mattress before your door even shuts behind you.  
Dozing off instantly, you hardly hear the muffled gunshot from next door, or the splattering sound against the wall.  
Or you just don't care enough to acknowledge it.


	4. It Never Ends

The next morning, er, well, afternoon, you wake up around two p.m., your neck and back throbbing.  
You sit up, shaking your head and looking around, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar setting. Unbothered, you take a deep breath. The groggy feeling in your head is slowly fading, but doesn't seem to be going away completely anytime soon.   
You yawn and stretch, trying to recall whatever dream you had last night, or how you ended up here, or how you'd fallen asleep in your clothes.  
A few moments later, reality sets in, and you immediately remember where you are. In a shitty apartment, in a shitty town, in a shitty situation- and sitting on one hell of a shitty mattress. You're assuming the rock hard surface is what's causing the pain in your back and neck.  
With a groan, you pull yourself to your feet and stumble groggily across the room, past your couch, and into the kitchen.  
Opening the fridge, you're met with quite a bit of disappointment- you'd completely forgotten to purchase any sort of food. Your stomach growls in discontent.  
"Fuck..." You mumble, leaning on the counter and burying your face in your hands. You've got no food, limited money, and feel like you have one hell of a hangover. Last night was a goddamn mess, and now your life is also a mess.  
You stand up, coming to a decision to start trying to get your shit together, and crack your knuckles. Not bothering to change out of yesterday's clothes, or look in a mirror to see your ratty, tangled hair, you lazily pull on a pair of combat boots, mumbling and cussing to yourself along the way. Pulling on a red leather jacket and checking to make sure you have your phone, you stomp out the door and down the hall, exhausted and pissed off at the universe.  
You pass your neighbor's door rapidly, not even bothering to turn your head in its direction, just wanting to forget that hostage mess ever happened and move out of this hellhole as soon as you have the money.   
Within a few minutes, you're at a small grocery store down the street, ignoring the probing stares of fellow customers, curious as to why you look half dead and like you literally just rolled out of bed. Both of which are completely accurate.  
You walk up and down the isles with a basket over your arm, absentmindedly tossing in things like soup and cereal and a hell of a lot of Mac and cheese, but being mindful of your limited budget, all the while cursing your mother for throwing you out just because she discovered you're friends with SpiderMan.  
You didn't mean to ever let her know, but Peter had to drop you off a week ago, completely shitfaced, after he managed to rescue you from a pretty serious bar fight. Not only were you barely 20 years old, but your mother had a pretty strict "no drinking/illegal things" rule that you had completely violated. To make it worse, Peter literally handed your limp body, covered in bruises, to your mother, at one in the morning.  
"She'll be fine, just a few scrapes and bruises." He assured kindly, and she slammed the door without a word. Your mother, for whatever reason, hates any sort of super hero- absolutely detests them. So, she didn't give the man in the bodysuit holding her daughter a second glance.  
She then argued with you for a week, about all that had happened that night, until you gave in and admitted that you'd done similar things before and yes, you were associated with SpiderMan.  
She had thrown you out before you could even blink.  
You shake your head at the memory.  
By the time you're just about done shopping, your basket is entirely full of junk food and microwave dinners. You can't cook for shit and now is honestly not the time to learn.  
Still annoyed, but significantly less fatigued after walking around a bit and getting some sunlight, you head towards checkout.  
And, just your luck- suddenly, a chilling shriek sounds from a few isles down, followed promptly by a gunshot.  
You drop your basket instantly, startled, and look up at the TV on the ceiling, displaying the security camera footage.  
Three men, clad in back, are crouched down and slowly walking from isle to isle, armed with some pretty heavy duty looking assault rifles, rounding up all of the shoppers. You can see what looks like a child and an adult lying on the floor, unmoving. And in blood.  
You feel a sharp pain in your chest, followed by quite a bit of aggravation towards whoever would shoot a child.  
But you instantly snap yourself out of that, going into a bit of a survival mode.  
Fortunately, it's a large store- but they're getting close to where you are rather quickly. And you can almost see yourself on the security camera footage- If you can see them, they can see you.  
"Shit." You hiss under your breath, abandoning your basket on the floor and beginning to quietly back up towards the corner of the store. You've had enough of all this hostage nonsense, honestly, and yet it seems to follow you.  
Just as you think you might be able to duck underneath some blankets for sale in the far corner, you stumble into a display case, sending boxes upon boxes of kids toys tumbling to the ground. You flinch, alarmed at the earsplitting sound it makes, especially since the screams died down and have turned into frightened whispers and uneasy rustling from the small group of hostages on the other side of the store. Looking back to the security footage, you notice all three of the men perk up instantly, looking in your direction.  
One of them, the largest of the three, delivers hand signals to the other two and begins to head your way, gun loaded and ready.  
"Fuuuckkkk..." You cuss yet again, as quietly as you can, backing yourself even further in the corner and preparing to either run, or go along with whatever they want.  
Tucking yourself into a corner and pulling your knees to your chest, you wait-  
But it's not the armed robber that reaches you.  
Looking to your left, after hearing what sounds like breathing, you see an all too familiar figure crouching beside you.  
"Heyo!" Wade chirps, giving you a thumbs up.   
"Oh. My. God." You groan, absolutely fed up with this guy. "You followed me?"  
"Well..." He shrugs nonchalantly. "I had a day off, so I decided to spend it following you around, out of curiosity. It's not often that Spidey introduces me to his friends." You can hear him smiling, but it seems to fade as the rage and irritation shows through on your face.  
You glare, crossing your arms. "I wouldn't call it an introduction. More like an abduction."   
Wade just shrugs again, much to your dismay.   
While trying to think of a response, you notice him glancing upwards at the TV, and suddenly he perks up a bit, apparently realizing there's a bit of a situation.  
"Well, as bitter as you are towards me," he pauses and draws one of his guns, and you immediately jump to your feet in alarm, putting at least a few meters between the two of you. He continues, after frowning at your reaction from beneath his mask, "you're lucky I chose today to follow you." He stands up as well, checking to make sure his pistol is loaded, and nods, apparently satisfied.  
Before the criminal can even completely round the corner, Wade puts a bullet in his leg, and then another in his arm, sending the man and his rifle to the floor in just seconds, in agonizing pain. The other two men hear the gunshot, and the scream of their accomplice, whipping around and heading in your direction instantaneously.  
After the shot is fired, you shrink back into the shelf for shelter. You've seen people get shot before, so the blood and the entire process isn't exactly bothering you very much. But Wade is clearly unstable- he seems to be having fun with this, judging by the way he's chuckling to himself.  
You're not sure if he'll shoot you next, and the thought does genuinely fill you with a certain amount of fear.   
When the other two men arrive, Wade instantly puts bullets in their skulls, without a flinch.  
You raise your eyebrows, trying to ignore the blood splatters all over the shelves and floor, looking instead at Wade, who's strapping his pistol back to his thigh with a satisfied hum.   
He gives you a thumbs up, and you just stay frozen in place, unsure of how to react to any of this.  
Immediately afterwards, you can hear sirens outside and police officers storming in, shouting to each other and beginning to search the store.   
You turn to look in the direction of an approaching officer, waving for him, indicating that someone's injured. Well, also dead.  
You turn around, then, to ask Wade how he's  going to handle the situation, since he's just killed two men and severely wounded the other, and you're sure the cops aren't exactly going to congratulate him.  
But you turn around to see nothing but a shelf, and Wade is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to those of you who have continued to support this! I'm having a blast writing it. Can't wait to bring in more of the signature eccentric Deadpool behavior, haha.  
> Also, don't hesitate to leave a comment with some feedback. It helps me figure out what y'all like to read and what I do and don't need to improve on.


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